


Battle of Snark

by Astray



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: AU - assassins are all stuck together, Because I can, Community: asscreedkinkmeme, Gen, Haytham too, I REGRET NOTHING, Malik is the King of Snark, asscreedkinkmeme prompt, attempt at snark., crackfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 05:05:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astray/pseuds/Astray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a kinkmeme prompt.<br/>Haytham and Malik are having a snark battle, and neither Connor nor Altaïr have an alternative but watch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Battle of Snark

“So... this is how you trained your son? Congratulation on the sloppy job you did.”

“Coming from the one who certainly managed to have a certain master assassin go about an assassination so stealthily, I have to take it as a compliment.” 

How did it come to this? How on earth did it come to this? Allah, why did you have to do that to him after all these years? Why? Altaïr only wanted one thing: to run away full pelt, out of the country and on another continent altogether. One glance at Connor told him that he was not alone in his plight. 

“Do they really have to do it?” 

Connor's voice was so low, Altaïr nearly missed what he said. “Do you want me to answer that?”

The look that was sent his way made him sigh. Well, the boy certainly did not hang around his father as much as he had to suffer through Malik's rants. “Alright. They both want to argue with someone. Since I never reply to his remarks, Malik found someone else to... train.”

“Train?”

“In snarkdom.” He would have shrugged. He really would have if both Malik AND Haytham were not glaring daggers at him. He was screwed. 

“Novice, don't you have anything better to do?” Forget that, he was skewered! But again, Malik asked a question and he was worse than a bulldog... Better not to give him any reason to destroy anything. 

“Not really.” Oh, he should find something, and fast. No way he was staying here. 

“Good to see you also taught him about subtlety. Working wonders, as I can see.”

When Malik whirled to face Haytham, Altaïr suddenly felt fear. Like, actual fear. Malik does not take criticism well – no better than he does himself. If Haytham keeps that up, there'll be blood. 

“Oh well, we can't all graduate in A-parenting.” There, right there. The dismissive gesture of the hand. No, Malik, don't be a twat, don't provoke the guy any further, don't!

Unbeknownst to Altaïr, Connor had gotten closer and now stood partly behind him. Pretty useless, the kid was taller than he was. Not that he was small but- Okay, back to the problem at hand. 

“Connor, when I step forward, we get the door. If they block it, aim for the second window to the right.” He said it softly enough so that the two compulsive snarkers would not hear him. Hopefully. 

“They look like they are up to something.” Oh, snap! Haytham, stop being perceptive, damn you!

“Probably going to slink off.” Malik took a look at Altaïr. Which made Altaïr understand that not only he'll get hell later, but also, that Malik knew. Things could not get worse. 

“It has to be a habit of them, trying to evade the problems, looking all innocent and what not.”

“Haytham, that's the pot calling the kettle black. Something to do with an opera stunt, I'm sure you know which one.”  
“At least I got away unnoticed. Unlike some.”

“What can I say? I was working with an arrogant fool. Whom you remind me of greatly, I might add.” That was the full-blown snark tone. People, fasten your seatbelts and forget the lifejacket, we're going to die!

“Malik-”

“I am not talking to you, novice. Now, unless you have something better to do elsewhere, I'll consider having you doing chores for the upcoming year.”

“Good idea. Connor, why don't you scram as well? Just so we can get some work done in here.”

“But dad, we're in the kitchen.”

“And?”

“You don't know how to cook.”

Altaïr noticeably sweatdropped at that. He didn't say that, did he? Oh, the murderous intent was there. The idiot, he had said it. They had to run. NOW! 

Just when Altaïr thought they'd get butchered, the door slammed open. Maria Auditore swept in, the empress in her realm – which was actually the case. She had Federico and Ezio in tow, each loaded like mules with food. Oh right, market day it was. She paid them no attention, not until everything was set on the table in front of her. 

“ _Signori_ , I suggest you find a way to occupy yourselves out of this kitchen. Lunch is not going to cook itself.” She stared at them with the imperious air of the Italian mother ready to transform anyone not listening into some _ragù._

Haytham dipped his chin in ackowledgement and literally fled the kitchen. Who knew a woman would send him on his way? Malik greeted Maria and went away as well, but not before – silently – promising Altaïr the worst possible retribution ever. 

“What did I do, again?” He muttered. 

“Altaïr, Connor.” Glancing at Maria, Altaïr found that she was looking at them with the near-sympathetic air of a mother. A mother who understood them. “You can stay here, but I would need your help. We have to get started now.” Altaïr did not miss Ezio frantically signalling at them to refuse. After all, he knew how much of a tyrant his mother was in the kitchen. Still, it was better to do what Maria asks without having Malik and Haytham having one of their random snark battles. 

“Anything.” Connor looked marginally better when he said so, Altaïr simply nodding. 

“Good. So, I'd need one of you to chop the onions, and the other, if you could mince the meat. I think a _ragù_ is in order.” The smile she gave them was enough to momentarily forget the snarkers in the other room. Much to Ezio's chagrin. 

“Do they ever stop?” He asked Desmond, pointing at Malik and Haytham. 

“Take a look at Altaïr and Connor, and take a wild guess.”  
“ _Dio mio_.” Ezio sunk back in his armchair, as though he wished it would swallow him whole. 

“It's a default setting. Shaun is the exact same thing.” He froze. “He heard me?” When Ezio nodded, Desmond could feel Shaun staring at his neck. He was so dead...

**Author's Note:**

> This basically wrote itself. It was my first time writing Haytham - and Maria.  
> My headcanon is that both Mal' and Haytham are ultimate snarkers getting at each other's throat unless they find another victim.
> 
> Also, my grand-mother refers to bolognese sauce as ragù. I am not sure about the way it's spelled...


End file.
